


Is Avocado an Aphrodisiac?

by rea_of_sunshine



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Cas works for a bitch boss, Castiel & Charlie Bradbury Friendship, Charlie Ships It, Dean Works at a Garage, Dean works at Walmart, Fluffy, M/M, Very minimal angst, fluffy fluffy fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 09:58:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7356658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rea_of_sunshine/pseuds/rea_of_sunshine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>     Cas, plagued by insomnia and an empty fridge, goes to Walmart to stock up on all his hard-to-find ingredients. </p><p>     What he doesn't expect to find is true love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Is Avocado an Aphrodisiac?

     Cas tears his way through the grocery store, empty aisles in the wee hours of the morning holding no resistance as his cart fills: avocado, cocoa, salt, etc., and then checkout, heading straight for Charlie’s register, lips already spilling complaints about his day. He unloads his entire basket onto the conveyor belt and recounts his entire shit day before he even spares a glance up at his best friend. What he sees, however, is not Charlie’s fiery red hair and sympathetic eyes. What he sees, instead, is the most beautiful man he’s ever laid eyes on, shocked, granted, freckled cheeks rosy with embarrassment, granted, but holy hell, beautiful. 

     “Oh my God,” Cas stutters, hands still holding onto the eggs, half his instinct telling him to regather his groceries and get the hell away, the other half telling him to stay and fumble out an apology to the beautiful checker before him. In the scramble and fry of his brain, he choses something in the middle, that being to stand, stare, half-shout, “Sorry!”, and grab everything he can carry before _sprinting_ away. 

     He finds Charlie three registers away, choking down silent, sobbing laughter as she watches him approach, his face absolutely mortified. 

     “Cas,” she wheezes as he approaches and slams his items down on her _new_ register, probably breaking his eggs and bruising his avocado. 

     “Why the hell didn’t you tell me some hot guy took your register?” he demands of her, though she can barely speak through her hysterical laughter. 

     “I’m…gay, Cas…no guys are…hot,” she manages to get out around her laughter, but when Cas cocks his head at her, obviously defeated, she tries again, working harder to clear her laughter. “I’m sorry, Cas,” she replies, lips frowning, eyes laughing, everything about her betraying him. “I know you’ve had a rough day. Flat tire, dirty subway, evil boss, dirty _and_ pervy subway again,” and that _was_ the basis of his shit day. His tire had finished a long winded leak of air on his way home this afternoon, and because his spare was already on his front right and he was still many, _many_ blocks away from his apartment, he took the subway, leaving him to sit next to a man who kept sneezing and wiping his snot-coated hands on literally everything. From the comfort of his apartment, he made himself a mug brownie, settled back into his favorite recliner to eat it, and was harshly interrupted by his phone ringing. 

     Slightly peeved, he looked over, saw it was his psychotic and needy boss, and hit silent. He then exhaled a deep and cleansing breath, stuck his spoon back into his brownie, and was jerked away by the phone ringing again. When he answered, she ordered him to come back into office if he wanted to keep his job and hung up before giving him the chance to explain that his car was otherwise involved. But he needed his job. So he put his brownie down, climbed back onto the subway—this time standing in a puddle of questionable liquid beside an old lady who kept grabbing for his ass unprovoked—and made his way back to the office. 

     And now this. 

     Charlie manages to stay at least a little sympathetic before starting her hysterical laughter all over again, doubling up and wheezing, his items lying forgotten on the counter between them. 

     “You looked up…and ran away,” she gasps, clutching her side as she chortles. 

     “I’m leaving,” he declares finally, turning on his heels for dramatic flare…and slamming straight into the beautiful checker. 

     “Oh, ow,” the man says, cupping the bottom of his chin where Cas’ forehead slammed into him with all the force of a fleeing animal. 

     “Ow, oh my God. I am so sorry,” he stutters, completely mortified for the second time in one night by the same man.

     He just wanted some avocado brownies to replace his lonely little mug brownie, not enough emotional trauma to keep him from leaving his house for weeks. 

     “No, that was my fault. Is your, uh, forehead alright?” the man asks, reaching up and _almost_ touching Cas’ forehead with his index finger. Cas mimes the action but goes all the way until his fingers brush against a soft bump on his head. 

     “Oh, yeah," he lies, still fingering the knot. "I’m pretty hardheaded." His voice is deadpan despite the fact that he was trying for a conspiratorial tone of humor. The man offers him an uncomfortable smile, followed by an awkward silence, leaving Cas to fumble for something to say, hell, _anything_ to say. He glances down, and, ah ha! He sees his much needed cocoa powder being held captive within the long, beautiful fingers of the cashier before him. He must have left it at the man’s register in his mad dash to escape his mortification. “Uh, is that mine?” he asks, voice sharp in the awkward silence. The sound makes him cringe, the man before him too, apparently, for he lets out a soft shudder. 

     “Yeah. Sorry. You left it at my register. I just thought I’d, you know, return it to you so you can make…” His voice trails off, waiting for Cas to finish the prompt.

     “Oh! I’m making avocado brownies,” he says, waiting for the reaction people always give when he tells them what he makes for his late-night snacks. The cashier does not disappoint. A look of pure disgust flashes across his face before he can reel it in and make it seem more welcoming. 

     “That sounds…” 

     “I know how it sounds,” Cas interrupts, a small smile on his lips. “It sounds like something that would hit your taste buds and immediately draw vomit up, but they’re actually pretty delicious.” 

     “I’ll take your word on that,” the man says with an easy laugh, a sound that chimes in Cas’ ears even as it fades from the world. He gets so lost listening to it that he misses his social cue to respond, so silence draws tight around them again. The man before him breaks it after a beat. “So, uh, here’s your cocoa powder.” The man practically shoves the small box into his hands. “And I hope you enjoy your avocado fudge.”

     “Brownies,” Cas corrects gently, heart fading at the fact that the beautiful man will be turning away soon, heart sinking back to stone each time he remembers his first frantic and embarrassing departure away from him. The man before him cocks his head and lets out an ethereal grin. 

     “Right,” the man says, pushing his hands into the pockets of his khakis. 

     Cas keeps expecting him to leave, but a beat passes, and another, and both are still trapped in the small, silent moment stretching outward between the two. Eventually, the cashier speaks again, voice casual. 

     “Hey, I actually work at the garage downtown in the afternoons. If you find yourself needing that tire fixed, you should come by. Ask for Dean.” Cas’ heart flips in his chest. 

     “Thank you…Dean, I presume.” 

     “You presume correctly,” he replies, grinning at Cas for a moment, making his heart do somersaults. 

     “Well, thanks again…I’d better,” Cas falters, motioning vaguely to his groceries, slowly spoiling milk, warming avocados, melting ice cream.

     “Oh! Oh, yeah, sure, definitely. I'll uh, see you around,” he says, hanging it like a question and smiling one last time before returning to his station, leaving Cas to return to Charlie’s. He stares at her, stunned for a moment, and she stares, stunned right back. 

     “He’s gorgeous,” he murmurs finally, consciously aware that the last thing he needs is for Dean to over hear him gushing. Charlie nods slowly. 

     “He was totally flirting with you, too,” she says, voice just as low as Cas’, and though he felt the attention, he dares not hope it was flirting. 

     “Bite your tongue,” he warns, hoping she doesn’t jinx it. 

     She checks him out quietly after that, helps him bag his things, and waves him goodbye. He doesn’t look at Dean as he leaves. He takes the subway for the next two days, goes to bed without late-night snacks, and keeps his car at the tow-yard. Soon enough, however, he tires of the subway. He’ll call it _that_ rather than admitting he’s reached his breaking point of the number of times he can think about a man without seeing him again. After day four of subway rides, he retrieves his car from the yard, airs up his leaking tire, and limps into the auto-shop downtown.

     He asks for Dean. 

     The man comes out grinning, his pristine navy polo having been traded for a greasy t-shirt repping the local baseball team, khakis traded for worn jeans. His freckled cheeks are smeared with motor oil, but his grin is still bright and blinding. He’s just as beautiful in the daytime as in the night, maybe more so. 

     “Hey,” he says, stopping before Cas and propping his hands on his hips. 

     “Hello, Dean,” Cas replies, a soft smile on his face, cheeks flaming as he stares down the beautiful man. 

     “No late-night snacks recently?” Dean asks, a grin on his face. 

     “No, I’ve been sleeping like a log,” Cas replies with a shrug.

     “Fair enough. You here about your tire?” he asks, and Cas swears Dean’s face isn’t hopeful. 

     “Two of them, actually,” Cas admits, waving over to his car, and Dean smiles before heading over. Cas hands Dean the keys and sits on a stool in the garage in order to watch as Dean moves his vehicle inside and jacks it up. Cas only watches the car, honest. Even when Dean squats down to start unscrewing the lug nuts, even when Dean's shirt rides up as he bends forward, even as Dean starts to get a little sweaty in the summer heat, even when he glances over his shoulder, grin in place as he begins to speak to Cas. They talk the whole time that Dean replaces Cas’ flat, the whole time he replaces Cas’ other flat, the whole time he replaces Cas’ spare. In fact, the only time they break their conversation is when Dean asks if Cas wants his tires rotated and aligned while he's at it, and Cas nearly screams a yes. He’s too caught on Dean to break away now. So Dean does, and the conversation stretches outward. 

     Soon enough, the work is gone, and Dean is just sitting on his creeper, elbows on knees as he talks with Cas. Both are grinning, and not only that, but both are content to sit in those uncomfortable places for hours, each lost in the other’s words. Eventually, however, Dean’s boss comes out with a look on his bearded face that is equal parts annoyed and amused. 

     “Boy, what do you think you’re doing?” the man asks, raising an eyebrow at Dean. Dean snaps his head up, turns four shades of red, and stands immediately. 

     “Bobby,” he says, laughing a nervous laugh at the name. “Uh, sorry…” He glances back at Cas and relaxes a bit, his smile turning more natural. “Uh, I’ll see you around, okay?” Cas nods, a soft smile on his lips. He takes his keys back from Dean and drives away. 

     “Idjit,” Bobby says to Dean when it’s just the two of them. 

     “Why are you calling me an ‘idjit’?” Dean asks, turning away from where he totally wasn’t watching Cas drive away. 

     “You even give that boy a bill or was he paying for it with the pleasure of his company?” Dean snaps his head up, looks at his boss with wide eyes, and scrunches his nose. 

     “Damn.” 

     “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Idjit.”

* * *

     That very night, Cas tosses in bed for hours, replaying his conversation with Dean, unable to sleep for the butterflies in his stomach. Eventually, he gives up on sleep and moves to the living room, the food network already playing from his last sleepless night. He watches for a bit, knowing he’ll either get sleepy or hungry, hoping to God that it’s hungry, and sure enough, two episodes in on his late-night binge, his stomach begins to growl. At the first rumblings, Cas jumps up, snatches his keys off the counter, and drives to Walmart. Because he knows he just wanted to see Dean, he grabs the first things that come to mind, those being potato chips and Nutella. 

     Charlie is working tonight. 

     So is Dean. 

     Charlie is staring straight at him, a smile on her face, clearly expecting him to come to her register.

     Dean is leaned against his counter, back to Cas, book in hand, clearly expecting everyone to go to Charlie’s register. 

     “Hello, Dean,” Cas says, a grin on his lips as he steps up to Dean’s station. 

     “Cas,” Dean says with a grin, looking up and closing his book. Cas’ stomach flips at the sound of his name on those lips. “More late night snacks?” Dean asks, motioning to Cas’ chips and Nutella. 

     “Yeah. I couldn’t sleep again.”

     “Me neither,” Dean replies with a shrug, and Cas snorts. 

     “I hate that,” Cas says sympathetically, a grin hiding on his lips.

     “Man, you and me both.” Dean grins, and Cas plops his items down for Dean to scan. Dean scans the two items quickly, efficiently. “So, I gotta ask. Are these little, er, recipes original creations or…?”

     “No, not really,” Cas replies, handing Dean cash and watching his deft fingers make change. “I watch the food network when my insomnia spikes, and the food gets real weird late at night.” Dean lets out a laugh, one that snatches Cas’ attention and leaves him star struck, thinking about all the horrible days that could be made beautiful just by that grin. 

     The next day, Cas calls Charlie during his lunch break, and she answers with fast talking and excited squeals. It takes a solid five minutes to calm her down enough for an intelligent conversation.

     “Holy crap, Cas,” she keeps saying. “He's totally in love,” and Cas keep shaking his head, heat flooding his cheeks. 

     “It’s not like that,” he tells her, still shaking his head, still somewhat sadly. “I don’t even know if he likes guys.”

     “Well, he likes _you,_ ” she replies, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

     “No, he doesn’t.”

     “Then why’d he ask about you, huh?” 

     “He didn’t,” Cas replies, and though his voice is dismissing, hope bubbles up inside of him, fast and dangerous and overwhelming. 

     “Then did _you_ tell him your name?” She asks, and it suddenly dawns on Cas that no, he hadn’t.

     “No…” he says softly, and Charlie harrumphs in his ear. 

     “That’s what I thought,” she says, clearly satisfied with his realization. “I happen to know because he asked _me_ while was he was asking about _you_.” Cas says nothing, just soaks up the fact that Dean _asked_ about him. “So…you gonna ask him out?”

     “What?” he asks, snapping away from his thoughts and back into the present. 

     “I said, are you going to ask him out, Romeo?” 

     “Oh, well…do you think he’d say yes?”

     “Were you honestly not listening to what I’ve been telling you during this whole conversation?”

     “Come on, Charlie. I’m nervous.”

     “Ask him, you wuss,” she demands, and then she hangs up. 

     That night, he goes back to Walmart and makes progress towards his asking Dean out, that being the fact that he asks for Dean’s number, and then they spend the rest of Dean’s shift texting back and forth, laughing and _maybe_ flirting. 

     The next night, he goes and spends half an hour at Dean’s register just talking, and the next, he spends at _least_ an hour, ignoring the goo-goo eyes Charlie keeps sending him over Dean's shoulder. He and Dean text _all_ the time, and Cas swears he’s a little bit in love. 

     “So,” Charlie says one night, her tone conversational as she sits on Cas’ couch, Star Wars pajamas rumpled from their lazy evening in. “Have you asked Dean out yet?” she pushes, and Cas huddles down deeper into the cushions. “Oh wait, the answer is _no_ , because if you had, I wouldn’t be forced to listen to you two _pining_ every night.” 

     “Sorry,” he says, voice small. His phone buzzes beside him, it’s Dean, and Charlie stares at it pointedly for a second before continuing.

     “You know, Valentine’s day is coming up. You could ask him then.”

     “Don’t you think that’s kind of cheesy?” Cas asks, eyes focused on the Netflix binge before him. 

     “I mean, yeah, but Dean is kind of cheesy. He’d appreciate it.” Cas says nothing for a long moment. 

     “You think?” he asks finally, and she smiles.

     “Duh.”

     So Cas hides in his house for the next two nights, texts Dean still, and plans his move. He decides to go simple: flowers, card, dinner, but then Valentine’s day comes and butterflies slam in his stomach so violently that his boss snipes at him twice to keep his head on his work. Eventually though, he makes it to closing time and makes it home. He spends the next few hours preparing. He cleans house, cleans himself, breathes slowly, and then it’s the start of Dean’s shift. 

     He drives slowly, and when he gets there, he keeps his head down, ignores the thumbs up Charlie tosses his way, and goes immediately back towards the cards. He picks one with a little hamster on the front that reads _I just can’t stop thinking about you!_ , and on the inside _But then, why would I want to stop?_ Just looking at it and thinking about giving it to Dean makes Cas’ heart skip two, three times in his chest. He takes a pen from his pocket and scrawls next to the hamster inside: _Dean, I wouldn’t want to stop thinking about you. Dinner?_ and puts it in the envelope, unsealed. He also picks up a bouquet of fresh flowers, and all the things he’ll need for dinner. 

     He takes a deep breath as he makes his way to Dean’s register, and when he puts the food down and finishes with the card and flowers, he keeps his eyes down. He doesn’t look at Dean until he’s holding the flowers, and when he finally allows himself that sweet gift, he sees Dean holding the flowers, mouth hanging open, looking horrified and shocked. Dean looks up at Cas, face disgusted even, and Cas knows Dean gets it. He knows that Dean knows Cas was going to ask him out, and he knows that Dean is horrified by the thought. _Oh God,_ Cas thinks, his heart slamming in his chest. _I had it totally wrong. He was just being friendly. He doesn’t want_ me. _He’s probably not even interested in guys!_ Cas loses his nerve right then and there. He had planned to tell Dean to open the card, a soft smile waiting on his face as he read it, and then they were going to ride off into the sunset, happily ever after waiting for them at the horizon.

     Dean gets over his shock first, sets the flowers aside, scans the card, bags everything. 

     “Twenty-seven ninety-one,” he says, voice soft, eye downcast. Cas hands Dean two twenties, picks up his bags, and leaves, trying to pretend his heart isn’t breaking. He can’t look at Charlie, only at the ground. 

     He goes home and sits on his couch, groceries left out on the counter. 

     Dean, still at the register, stands perfectly still, nerves trembling at what just happened. Cas was buying a Valentine's Day gift for someone else. If it had been for him, Cas would have said something, right? An ache starts deep in his chest, and he breathes deeply, trying to ignore the feel of Charlie's eyes on him. A moment passes, then another before he can start moving again, and once he does, he picks up the card he slid under the register when he saw Cas come in. It says on the front, _I just can’t stop thinking about you!_ and on the inside _But then, why would I want to stop?_ Inside, next to the little hamster on its running wheel, in Dean’s messy scrawl, it reads _Cas, be my Valentine?_ and Dean even scribbled a smiley face next to the words. 

     He throws the card away, the sound of it hitting the empty, metal bottom clanging through his chest. After that, he swallows down his hurt and takes his first break of the night. 

     He misses Charlie watching his every step, hurt in her eyes as well because she saw everything, saw Cas’ card, saw Dean’s card, saw the misunderstanding washing between them. 

     She calls Cas right away. 

     “Get your ass back here. Bring the card,” she says, and immediately hangs up. He pulls the phone away from his ear, stares at it, and does as he’s told. Normally, he would argue, but she’s there with _him_ , and Cas is sitting at home alone. He snatches the card off the counter, almost forgets the flowers, and jumps into his car. The drive is long, takes an eternity until it doesn’t. Soon, he’s parking without thought in the handicap parking spot and jumping from his car. As he runs to Dean, he tries to keep calm, tries not to get his hopes up, tries to remember that if he says no, it won’t be the end of the world. It would hurt like hell, of course, but he’d still wake up in the morning. 

     But then his panic has nowhere to go as the doors part for him, and he’s skidding inside, staring directly at Dean as soon as he bursts inside. He is frozen in his gaze, chest heaving, flowers in his left hand, card in his right. Dean’s heart is slamming as well, taking in every frazzled inch of Cas, from his sneakers right up to his rumpled hair. He’s never seen anyone so beautiful. 

     “Dean,” Cas says, voice low in his throat, a growl practically. Charlie watches from her counter, a grin on her face. Cas begins to walk towards Dean, pace agonizingly slow for both of them. As he walks, he runs through a million things to say, a hundred ways to say the same thing, that being, _I want you_. 

     “Cas,” Dean replies, hands twitching by his side. He itches to reach out and straighten Cas’ rumpled clothes. 

     Cas opens his mouth to let one of the millions of things out, and instead, silence falls. They stand there, staring at one another until Cas finally remembers _why_ he’s here. He stretches his arm out, the one with the flowers, and offers them to Dean. 

     “For you,” he says, watching Dean’s face change. He prepares for the disappointment from earlier, the disgust, but before Dean can express that, Cas shoves the card at him too, and when they’re both in Dean’s hands, Cas looks down to let the chips fall where they may. Silence passes, then Cas hears a sound that could only be the rumpling of a garbage bag as Dean throws the card away. Cas squeezes his eyes shut tightly, as though that would help him not to feel the hurt. 

     “Cas,” he hears after a moment, and when he opens his eyes, the card is staring back at him. Cas thinks having it handed right back is almost worse than having it thrown away in front of him.

     “I don’t want it back, Dean,” he says softly, blinking slowly before looking up at him. Dean’s clutching the flowers to his chest. “It’s fine if you don’t want to go out with me. You don’t have to give me back the card.”

     “Just take it, you stubborn mule,” Dean says, a grin on his face, one that startles Cas to see at a time like this, so much so that Cas just swallows his pride and reaches out to take the card before turning away. “Wait,” Dean stops him, voice concerned. “Where are you going?” Cas, confused, looks back at Dean with a furrowed brow. 

     “Home,” he says softly, and Dean smiles again.

     “Aren’t you going to read the card first?”

     “I just gave you this card, Dean. I know what it says,” Cas replies, his patience slowly leaving him as his spirit falls. 

     “No,” Dean says, picking up a card from the counter and holding it up for Cas to see. It’s the same one he holds in his hand. “ _This_ is the card you gave me. _That_ is the card I got for you.” Dean grins, hands still clutching the flowers to his chest. Cas looks at the card Dean holds and then down to the one in his hands before flicking it open and drinking in the four words like they’re icy water in a scorching desert. _Cas, be my Valentine?_ Again and again, and each time, they slam into Cas like they’re fresh. Four little words, words that could have been written by a second grader for all the emotional maturity they show, but still. Cas cherishes every single letter. 

     “Really?” Cas asks, after what seems like an eternity. He looks up to Dean with hopeful eyes, and Dean grins. 

     “Really.”

     Cas looks back down at the card and begins to grin. The smile grows larger and larger until he can’t hold in his happiness, and all he’s left to do is spring to Dean with arms wide open. Dean catches him easily, flowers crushing between them as they hug, Cas giggling like a dumbass. 

     “Of course, I’ll be your Valentine, Dean,” he says after a while, and Dean snorts against his neck.

     “Thanks, Cas,” he says with a grin. When they pull apart, Charlie cheers in triumph, turning the heads of the few other people in the store. No one in their small little world cares enough to change a thing.

**Author's Note:**

> [The card exists.](http://www.hallmark.com/cards/greeting-cards/cute-critter-love-499VEE4299.html)


End file.
